


in the deep midwinter

by starbucks (starstrike)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Russia, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2825540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrike/pseuds/starbucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a tale of Kings and Princes with jewels and wars, it is only the story of a woodcutter and his bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the deep midwinter

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by winter and my worryingly large knowledge of fairytales

1.

A large plain draped heavily with a silent white blanket. Trees in small groups bent under the great weight got darker and closer until they rose up into a great wall. A wall made of timber and pine and made dark by memories from years of loss. A wall that was as wide as a man could walk and twice that deep. A wall that in some parts of the land may be called a forest but here was simply spoken of in murmurs. In front of this came a tumbling, twirling plume of smoke that wound its way up until it was lost in the clouds hanging heavy over the trees. The smoke made its way from a chimney barely visible through the sombre silence. Under the chimney, although we cannot see it, was a cottage of a woodcutter. The woodcutter, expectedly, was the cause of the smoke. He had his feet up on the hearth and in his hands, a small carving of a wolf that he was running a knife over.

 

His head was a jumble of symbols and shapes, for our woodcutter was only learning his letters as his bones began to ache and his joints to crumble. But nevertheless, his story was about to begin and he set aside the wolf to pick up a clean block of wood. Stepan, or Степан as we should call him for he was Russian and this is Russia, dug in his knife and began to carve.

 

As good as a thousand leagues away in the darkness of the forest a bear lifted its head and heard its name begin to be called.

 

2.

The bear walked. Day and night it plodded onwards though the endless darkness until it began to see grey light filtering through the tree tops. It had heard its name and so it must answer.

 

The woodcutter, who knew not of the approaching bear, woke each day and cut wood before retiring once darkness fell. Until, on a day where the sun rose late and set early, the bear made it to the edge of the forest. Shadows flowed and covered the cottage and the woodcutter’s dogs, great Huskies born of cold with bones of stone, howled at a forgotten moon. The howls slowed as the great bear silenced them and laid its broken body down by the cottage door. The carcasses were surrounded by red circles on the snow and the woodcutter let loose a tear as his only protectors in this endless night bled out. An honest man’s tear has been said to be able convince the sun to rise in the west and on Midwinter magic is rife in the air.

 

The tear fell to the snow by the heart of the dying bear. Its fur began to shrink and shadows ran along its back as it contorted and stretched in the light cast by the torch. The woodcutter’s torch flickered in the wind and in that moment of darkness the bear was no more. There was now only long hair and a thick bearskin coat.

 

3.

For the first time, the woodcutter let life into his cottage. The bear-clothed man slept with the jaw pulled down over his own and in the long shadows of stone walls he and the bear were indistinguishable. In the waving light from the fire, the woodcutter carved. The bear-clothed man was bathed in shadows for eight days. On the ninth there was only light and he began to waken. With a bear-clothed man, the woodcutter left the bear carving on the hearth.

 

4.

Years passed in storms of snow until the bones of the woodcutter were cold through. Midwinter’s night arrived in a cacophony of howls and the bear-clothed man passed him the bear carving that the woodcutter had never finished as he did every year. “закончить его” he said, _finish it_. With hands of ice, the woodcutter pressed his knife to the wood until the flames sank low and numbing cold was creeping in from all sides. With blinding slowness the carving fell from the woodcutter’s hand but it never reached the floor. The knife passed through the empty space where it had been and with great delicacy his hand split from fingertip to wrist. The red blood fell in beads big enough to douse hope and froze into Midwinterblood beneath his chair. The carving was gone and if he cared enough to look he would have seen it wrapped in shadows in the bear-clothed man’s arm. “плачь по мне” the bear-clothed man hissed, _cry for me._ Memories of lies of peace and comfort rolled down the woodcutter’s chin where the bear-clothed man held the carving. An honest man’s tear has been said to be able convince the sun to rise in the west and on Midwinter magic is rife in the air. The bear-clothed man fell to the floor. The long flames from the hearth stretched and pulled the bearskin until the door slammed open and extinguished the fire. In the sudden darkness there was only movement and haunting yells. Under the light of the moon a bear fled under shadows until there were no more shadows to be cast. Looking up at the empty moon, the broken bear began to howl. 

 

5.

Bone cold and dying, Stepan sat and waited to surrender to the circling darkness.

 

+1.

But this is a story of the past and their lives have passed now. They are long dead and their bones lie cold and heavy in the ground.  Yet they are not entirely gone. For they live on dear reader. Their hearts and souls live on in you, as you now remember them and so they are not forgotten. Lost may their bodies be, but long will their legends live.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to justify this. 
> 
> 1) My Granddad was extremely superstitious so a lot of this has come from stories that he used to tell me as a kid. He was Romanian so I've translated them into English as best I can remember but I still think some things were just from his family. He always told me that if I killed an animal on Midwinter then I needed to let it bleed out onto the ground until the blood froze and this frozen blood was called Midwinterblood. I've found no record of this other than in my family so I think it may just be us who do this.  
> 2) This is just a mesh of like 5 different fairy tales I love so please don't read too deeply  
> 3) This was also like 50 minutes work so please know that I can write better than this (as you can tell from the ending)  
> 4) As I sort of mentioned, I really suck at endings  
> 5) I will be the first to admit that my Russian is rusty (it would have to be with the amount of languages in my head) so please tell me if they don't make sense


End file.
